Sleep
by Mama Holmes
Summary: John watching Sherlock sleep. One shot.


Those restless mid-case nights were tough for both Sherlock and John.

Sherlock didn't get much sleep these nights, and John was only able to snatch a few moments until the next time Sherlock called him.

They both had bags under their eyes on those nights, especially John, but it was all worth it when Sherlock found the solution. He always did.

There was this one time when Sherlock collapsed, fell asleep with his elbows resting on the table.

John then brought a blanket and covered his shoulders, planted a soft kiss on the detective's cheek and neck and exhaled heavily. Sherlock never listened when John said he needed sleep. He was human, after all. Not the superhero everyone wanted and expected him to be. John thought then that maybe Sherlock himself wanted to be this superhero.

He just couldn't understand that John sees him as a hero, HIS hero, and that he didn't need to prove anything. Being his flawless self was more than enough.

After the cases were solved, every single time, Sherlock's sleep was long, deep and needed.

He slept on his stomach on those nights, one leg spread on the side. It was usually taking over John's side of the bed, but it didn't bother him.

John would do his best not to move it, and looked lovingly at Sherlock's beautiful bare back, his shoulder blades flawlessly going up and down with every breath.

John would smile at him softly, then stroke his soft, curly hair and put an arm on this almost white skin that looked so fragile, despite the fact that underneath it were well defined muscles.

John would crawl closer to Sherlock and breath him in, taking this overwhelming pure happiness deep into his lungs. Breathing so deep that it hurt.

John used to fall asleep moments later, Sherlock's smell still filling every single cell of his body.

On some nights, Sherlock fell asleep on his side, his back facing John. This beautiful back was slightly curved then, his backbone sticking out, showing through his skin.

On those nights, John would spoon him, wrap himself around this thin body and plant hundreds of little kisses everywhere he could reach. Cheeks, neck, shoulders, hair. Marking the beautiful detective as his.

Sherlock would make those little noises when John kissed him, as if he was waking up, but he never did. John then would scrub his thumb on Sherlock's cheek lovingly and plant one last kiss on his neck, this time leaving his face there. He let his warm breath linger on Sherlock's skin and make him shudder softly in his sleep, and sink deeper into the sheet. Closer to John's warm body behimd his.

John could swear that sometimes he could see the ghost of a smile on his beautiful pale lips before falling asleep as well.

On other nights, Sherlock would sleep on his side, facing John.

His colour-changing eyes were closed and his face was so relaxed, not a single muscle working. He looked so peaceful, sleeping there next to John, so vulnerable that John was almost surprised to see this side of him every time. He was THE Sherlock Holmes, always strong, always in control. John was the only one he'd ever let himself be helpless with. He trusted John so much, that he let himself be completely defenseless. It sometimes made John so emotional, he would shed a tear. But immediately wipe it off. Sherlock couldn't see him cry, this often broke him, to see John cry.

So he didn't. For him.

John would feel Sherlock's warm breath fluttering on his bare chest, tickling him lightly. He then kissed Sherlock's forehead and stroked his black hair, planted a few soft kisses on the very tip of his nose and made his way to those bow lips, that were always amazingly soft.

That usually woke Sherlock up. He would look at John sleepily and kiss him back slowly, letting John's tongue find its way to his. He would put a hand lazily on John's nape and run his thumb across the gentle skin of John's neck. That particular thing always made John shiver and moan softly into Sherlock's mouth, and Sherlock would wrap both his arms around John's body and pull him closer. They used to keep kissing lazily for the next twenty minutes before falling asleep, arms and legs tangled together in a beautiful knot of pure love.

But John's favorite kind of nights was when Sherlock slept on his back.

His arms were spread to his sides, or on his stomach, or holding the pillow.

John would always smile at this trusting position, the most vulnerable of all. His sensitive stomach was revealed, making it extremely easy to harm. John felt so protective at those nights, willing to kill every person who would get too close to his Sherlock. No one would ever be able to harm this beautiful soul, that was no longer broken.

He was his treasure, his sunshine, his beautiful secret. Sherlock was John's simply everything, and he couldn't understand how he was ever able to function without him. He was his soulmate, his other half. John felt complete around him, and hollow when they were far away from each other. He was addicted to Sherlock Holmes, and this was the best kind of addiction he could ever imagine.

After John would get a satisfying amount of looking at this gorgeous body lying next to him, he would start again with the kissing.

Kissing Sherlock was always so precious. It was the best feeling in the whole world, feeling this hurt, sensitive, beautiful human being giving in to him and allowing him do whatever he wants to him. This absolute trust the detective had in John, this total confidence that the other man would never hurt him.

John would put a hand on Sherlock's muscular stomach and stroke it, slowly-slowly, not wanting to interrupt the peaceful sleep. John would kiss Sherlock's bare chest, right where the heart was, and rub his thumb across the sensitive skin, planting a trail of soft kisses everywhere he could reach.

When his eyelids became heavy and he could feel himself falling asleep, he would rest his head on the detective's chest and listen to the stable heartbeat.

As their hearts went into a perfect sync, he drifted off to sleep, and his last thought before falling asleep was how lucky he was to love and be loved by this beautiful soul, this destroyed person that he put back together, one piece by the other.

And this was the best feeling he could ever imagine.


End file.
